He hated it when they cried
by ryoku1
Summary: AU Vamp!Canada. After a fight with Alfred, Arthur leaves and runs into someone he ought not have ever met. M for violence.


The soft winter snow falling in small white tufts was actually quite calming to Matthew, and he thought it quite kind of the weather to be so tranquil. It had been lightly snowing on and off for the better portion of the week, a welcome sign for the winter holiday that was soon to come. A beautiful world of white, poised to usher in the birth of December. The image brought to mind was one that could have been found in any children's book. A winter wonderland if you will. Beautiful it was indeed.

But with the cold came another unpleasant truth for Matthew, everyone was indoors on this beautiful December's eve, most definitely snuggled up with a loved one by a warm fire. There was not a soul roaming the streets this cold winters night, and he was quite hungry.

It was not fair to say that Matthew took pleasure in the actions he was forced to take. It was simply survival; he did not enjoy gorging himself on a human's blood. Most people didn't enjoy slaughtering livestock to eat, it was simply necessary. He thought of it in that sense: an unpleasant inevitability of life.

Of coarse humans had it easy, cows or pigs could be led to slaughter with little work, and they couldn't shriek with the same level of emotion that a human could. Couldn't beg for their life, couldn't scream in a vain attempt for help, and most of all, they couldn't cry. Sure, they could be drugged; lulled into a sleep they would never wake from, but he abhorred doing that. It might have seemed the humane thing to do, but Matthew saw it quite differently. He felt it important that his prey knew their time had come. It would be wrong to not even give them a fighting chance. Plus the blood tasted off when knockout drugs where used to heavily. It was not fair to say that Matthew liked it when they squirmed, or that he enjoyed it when they put up a fight. It simply was not so.

The only draw back he saw to his preferred method of hunting was the crying. Oh he hated it when they cried; the ones that screamed and struggled where…tolerable, and begging he could easily rationalize for them - they had every right to plead for their lives- though it would do no good. Oh but the crying, there was no…satisfaction (he shuddered at using that word) in that. When they begged and cried at the same time it was alright, when they screamed and cried at the same time it was fine, but if they cried soundlessly, slightly shaking in his grip, all Matthew could ever feel was an overwhelming emptiness that ate at him for weeks.

He had spared a few who had cried, abandoned them with just enough blood to survive for about an hour. Their death was not his doing, it was fates choice then. Nonetheless he was always saddened when they died despite his efforts. They died more often then not.

Matthew remembered a young girl that had followed him out of a dance club one evening who had come to such a fate. She had been beautiful, young, vibrant; with a winning personality that would have served her well if she had lived long enough. The poor thing had been unfortunate in that respect, if he had never noticed her, she might still be alive.

Leading her into an alley way had been one of his easiest pursuits, the young girl was far to trusting, and in the hours after the sun had set he'd sunk his fangs into her beautiful tanned neck. She had gone without a fuss, almost as if she was too surprised to react, the fact had struck him as odd at the time, but he had taken her nonetheless. Like all blood hers had been warm, but unlike most hers held an alluringly sweat taste to it, almost tropical if you will. Had she not started crying, Matthew doubtlessly would have been lost within that beautiful essence.

It had been a split second decision to leave her alive. He didn't do it often, and even less often when the taste was that intense. But once the feast had stopped he never regretted the decision. Matthew had gently laid her still form against a wall and departed. The girl had come with a few friends, they would doubtlessly get worried and come looking for her. He was almost positive that she would survive.

It had been a bitter pill to swallow when he saw her obituary three days later. A bitter pill indeed.

He hadn't 'eaten' for almost a week after that, depression taking its compensation on his body, but the hunger would not be ignored. The hunger would never, could never remain ignored for long.

It was on this beautiful evening that Matthew found himself pleasantly cold and almost unbearably hungry. He had hoped to find someone within his storybook winter wonderland that would fulfill his appetite, but there was no one to be seen. He would have to choose another method and abandon his visions of snow drenched in blood.

The small tavern was actually quite welcoming to the traveling stranger, its doors remained closed but the lights shone brightly, and Matthew could feel the warmth emanating from the small building. Upon a moment of inspection, he decided that this spot would do. There had been many a time that the richest, most flavorful blood had come to him in the dens of drink and smoke. He anticipated that tonight would not disappoint.

Upon entering, Matthew instantly knew his quarry.

The small pub was sparsely populated, a couple sat in the corner, doting on each other in whispered tones, a group of friends close to the front, laughing and haggling one another, but the small, slumped man alone on the bar was the one that caught Matthews eye. His shoulders were hunched, the glass he cradled almost tenderly in both hands, as if he was imagining it to be something else entirely. It didn't take a master of perception such as Matthew to realize the man had been crying, or was in a state to do so even if his eyes where not readily visible.

Making sure not to seem to eager – oh he could smell the richness and passion flowing through this one's veins – the intruder quietly made his way over to the small figure, taking the seat next to the mans left. Eyes shifted slowly to his direction, Matthew pretended not to notice. There was no other motion and after a moment the eyes shifted back to the glass being nursed almost lovingly.

It wasn't long after that the bartender spotted him and requested his drink of choice, offering him a smile laced with suspicion. Sparing a closer glance at the smaller man and taking a subtle smell, Matthew decided that a glass of wine would be most appropriate and requested a menu of their selection. A few moments passed as he browsed, taking his time to weigh his available options. Ordering the wrong drink would not do. He finally decided on the d'Arenberg Dead Arm Shiraz, adding quietly that he would be requiring two glasses. Matthew could feel the bartender's suspicion double.

The glasses and drink where quickly brought forth and poured. The cautious server moved out of view, but Matthew was sure those eyes where still on him. His prey must be a regular at this small pub.

For a while the two sat in an almost stifling silence, the deep red wine remaining untouched. It was the smaller of the two that finally broke the silence. With a slight shift of his body, the man raised his glass to drink before bringing it back down to nurse it some more.

Matthew took that as an invitation to initiate, and he slowly reached his hand out to one of the cooled wine glasses in front of him and swirled the liquid inside before taking a delicate sip.

Deep, rich, and earthy; Matthew knew it was not a perfect match - there never was a perfect comparison to a humans blood - but he was sure it was as close as he was going to get.

He swirled the liquid once more, taking in the alluring scent, before savoring another taste.

"Would you like some? It's very good. I'm sure you'd like it." Matthew's voice was sweet, soft, and inviting. The sincerity could not have been faked.

At first there was no reply. The smaller man just continued to sit there, ignoring the invitation. Matthew kept his eyes on the other, radiating comfort, understanding, and sympathy.

"I don't need your bloody pity."

The response was soft yet fierce, bitter yet forlorn, and had Matthew not been anticipating it, he would have backed down. But no, this had been expected. In fact, if the response had been different, any less emotional, Matthew was sure he would have walked out right then. The passionate ones always tasted the best.

The glass was up again, and this time the smaller man had finished it off before placing it lightly back on the bar. Matthew took another sip.

"It sure is a beautiful evening."

Eyes where on him again, and this time Matthew met them; they where a beautiful shade of green, Matthew thought to himself. Even if they where quite red.

"If you like freezing your ass off."

There was no turn of the head with the remark, not even a glance his way. Matthew laughed softly to himself.

"That's what the drinks for, eh?"

The smaller seemed to mull over that statement for a while before reaching for the wineglass and taking a drink himself.

"It is good."

The night was still young.

--

Francis and Feliks had convinced him to go clubbing with them the night before. At the time it had seemed like a wonderful idea, the pulsing of the music, the movement of bodies all around him, the sweet, sweet alcohol in his system. Alfred wouldn't deny that he enjoyed it, but now, the morning after, the abusive hangover plaguing his head was making him question the intelligence in his previous venture.

He shifted under the warm sheets, not sure if he wanted to shove them off the bed or wrap them more securely around himself. His body was sending mixed messages.

Alfred registered that the door had opened softly and that someone was making their way towards him. Despite that Alfred refused to open his eyes, he knew it would only magnify the pain in his head.

A cool hand moved against his forehead, swiping away sweaty bangs as it did, and Alfred knew without a doubt who the intruder was.

"How did I get home last night?" Alfred mumbled softly.

The response was delayed, but came through as rough and unforgiving as Alfred had expected.

"Francis called me at 3 in the morning asking for a ride. It seemed the three of you managed to even get Toris trashed."

"Oh…" He didn't remember that, not at all.

"You where dancing without a shirt, in the rain with Feliks when I got there."

"…Really?" He didn't remember that either.

"Yes, Really." Harsh "You're running a fever. I'm going to go make some Chamomile tea. And no complaining about how bad it tastes." The last statement had been added just as Alfred had scrunched up his face in disgust.

The hand was off of his forehead, and he could hear the soft thumping of slippers as his companion moved back out of the room.

"Thank you Arthur."

Alfred didn't get a response, but the movement stilled before continuing, soft mumbles that the young man couldn't completely distinguish coming from the direction of the older man. Alfred was sure he'd heard something about 'stupid children' and 'despicable Frenchmen' somewhere in there.

It had been one of those midnight showings, the ones that sold out a week before the actual event, and Alfred had been ecstatic to acquire two tickets. He hadn't expected to actually get them, it had been completely compulsive of him to call into the radio station. Who knew he would be the ninth caller, winning himself two tickets to Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring that very evening.

To say the least, he was excited; it was even a movie that Alfred thought Arthur would enjoy, and those the younger blond had found to be in short supply.

So it was easy to imagine how upset Alfred had been when Arthur had come home from work and scoffed at the idea of going. Needless to say lots of pleading and angry glares later found the pair, tickets in hand waiting to get inside the theater; Alfred bouncing up and down in excitement and Arthur trying to keep his eyes open.

The movie, in Alfred's opinion, had been amazing. A true masterpiece accentuated by the overabundant spirit of the audience: hollering, hooting, and being generally boisterous throughout the long feature. At first Alfred had thought Arthur was enjoying it too. Whenever something particularly frightening would happen, the older man would spasm and grasp Alfred's hand. It was about half way through the movie that Alfred realized that was only because Arthur kept falling asleep, and was brought abruptly awake every time the crowd would make a fuss. The younger tried his best to not let it upset him, but every time he only felt himself getting angrier and angrier.

Afterwards Alfred had irritably snatched up the keys and drove home, seething to himself as Arthur snored.

The next morning when the alarm clock went off at 5 am, Alfred was secretly pleased. He'd told Arthur he would regret teaching a class at 7 o'clock in the morning.

Alfred stared at his textbook for the fifth time that evening, not really getting what it was trying to convey to him, his pencil idly tapping against a clean tablet of paper. Blue eyes shifted to the couch, where Arthur sat reading a book. Alfred squinted – his glasses where on the table – to try and see what he was reading. The color told him it might be 1984 or Macbeth, but the size contradicted both answers. He wondered if it was new before again attempting to read his own text.

Five minutes later Alfred was convinced that there was no earthly way for him to finish the chapter on his own.

"Arthur" he whined loudly. The other man didn't look up to answer, just sighed.

"What is it, Alfred." An emphasis was placed on the younger's name, its intent to show annoyance completely ignored by the addressed.

"You know the last time you helped me with my work I really understood it…" Alfred left the request hanging there.

Arthur sighed again, put down the book and turned his head towards the other blond.

"I'm an English professor Alfred. I don't know anything about aerospace engineering. Its not what my masters is in."

Alfred rolled his eyes.

"I know that. But you could…ya know…read the text book to me…"

There was silence in the room as Arthur almost seemed confused at the suggestion.

"That has to be one of the stupidest ideas you've ever come up with." Arthur returned to his book.

"No, no! Seriously! Think about it, you make a living teaching poor collage students English, English! That has to be the most boring class on the face of the planet, and you keep them awake simply by talking! Hell, you've got the highest grade averages out of the whole department! It isn't so weird for you to read to me when you're good at reading out loud!"

At the part about English being boring, Arthur had swiftly turned to glare at Alfred, but as the younger had continued, Alfred could see that his argument was making sense. Arthur's expression had softened considerably.

"Fine" Arthur replied after a long moment of thought. He placed the book he had been reading on the coffee table and sauntered over to the counter where Alfred sat. Taking the large text in hand, Arthur began reading, and Alfred could tell he was trying to make the dull material interesting.

Within minutes Alfred's hand was in a flurry of motion as the pencil quickly tried to jot down all of the important points that he was hearing.

Alfred had never gotten a better score on a test in his life.

--

He wasn't exactly sure what had woken him from his trip down memory lane. Perhaps it was the moon reflecting off of the snow from the bedroom window. Maybe it had been the gentle ring coming from Arthur's large clock in the hallway. The soft pulsing of the lights on the Christmas tree coming from the living room could have been the culprit. It could have also been that Alfred was alone, so accustomed to having another's warmth at his side as he slept.

Alfred couldn't say for sure; one moment he had been asleep, dreaming of fond memories and the next he had been awake, staring at the ceiling feeling cold and abandoned. The argument he and Arthur had earlier starting to muddle in his mind before coming more clearly to him.

It had started over something small; all of their fights did these days. Arthur reading a book when Alfred wanted them to watch a movie together, Arthur getting upset about Alfred's choice of music and the volume of it. Silly stupid things that somehow where not as excusable now that the two had been living under the same roof for such a long time. It usually escalated from there, but it always started with something small and insignificant.

Alfred would lose his temper and start yelling, Arthur would try to stay calm but would eventually join in the shouting match. Both wouldn't talk after that. If they where lucky one of them would cave and apologize quickly. If not they would live in comparable silence for a few days; Arthur sleeping on the couch and Alfred staying at a friend's house.

Alfred hated it. He absolutely hated it. An ending to their longstanding relationship had never seemed an option to him, but tonight he had been convinced it was the best course of action. He'd hid himself away in the bathroom, locked the room and every time Arthur had tried to talk, even if he wasn't trying to say anything angry or hurtful, Alfred had screamed at him to leave. Told him never to come back.

The younger only realized now that Arthur had pleaded him to come out and talk things over. That the two of them could fix things, that their bickering could stop, they just both needed to try. But it was useless; Alfred would hear none of it. He was positive he had done nothing wrong, and continued to berate the other.

When Arthur had finally left Alfred had expected to feel better, but it had only left him empty and more upset than when they'd started quarrelling. He'd made his way to the bedroom and curled up in a ball, doing everything he could not to cry himself to sleep. He wouldn't cry because of Arthur. Good riddance to him. They would be better off separated for good.

He'd fallen asleep angry and bitter and woken knowing that there was much that needed to be mended. Talking was the only way they where going to get over this. Some things where just important enough to be fixed, and Alfred knew that this was one of those things. This needed to change.

Blue eyes shifted slightly to the digital clock to his right, the red numbers reading '3:45'

"Arthur" He had tried to make the call seem less needy then it was, less pleading, but as it escaped his lips he decided there was no way to mask how miserable he felt. He waited for a response, hoping beyond hope that Arthur had not listened to him and was sleeping on the couch like he usually was after one of their fights.

There was no response.

Lifting himself from the cold bed Alfred trudged out of the room towards the small living room, hoping again that Arthur had just not heard him. But upon entering the room he found it empty, all hope that this would be easy draining out of him.

Arthur would be back eventually - all of his things were still here – but deep down Alfred knew that would be the wrong thing to do. He had never been good at waiting for anything any way. Wordlessly he turned and grabbed a coat on his way out the door, for once thankful that he hadn't taken the time the change when he'd went to bed.

At a brisk pace he started out for the small bar Francis owned. It was about 4 blocks, and though taking the car would have been much more pleasant in the winter chill, Alfred couldn't think of it. He and Arthur always walked.

--

"I wish that we could talk. Just talk. He's got such a short temper these days, and I don't even know why. He won't tell me anything."

Despite what might have seemed like a rather droll situation, Matthew was having a very good time. It was a ritual of sorts; he always gave his quarry his undivided attention, sympathy, and affection. Matthew felt it a horrible indignity to simply kill a person without valuing their life, even if it was just for a short time.

So he listened attentively to Arthur – that was the smaller mans name – as he poured out his life story to a caring shoulder.

"He has to know how much he means to me, how couldn't he know? Yet despite all that here I am, kicked out of my own apartment. Ain't it a bloody shame."

The Englishman lifted the wine glass for another sip.

"Damn this is good wine. What is it again? I'm sure Alfred would like it. He always complains about wine, says it tastes bad, but I'm sure I could convert him with this stuff."

Matthew chuckled, "d'Arenberg The Dead Arm Shiraz, it's a little pricey though, so best save it for a special occasion."

Arthur scoffed, "He's so materialistic, everything is expensive with him. This'll be nothing. It'll make a good Christmas present….if he forgives me by then…" the smaller man seemed to slump at the thought that he might be spending Christmas alone. Matthew offered an encouraging smile to the down trot man.

"I'm sure he'll get over it soon. Some things are just more important then being upset, he'll realize." Matthew spoke with confidence, knowing that he would not be wrong.

"I hope you're right. I don't know how much more of this I can take. It didn't start out like this, us getting mad at one another…and I know I don't have the best temper either… I'm not the best guy out there, but I love him with all my heart. He has to know that."

Matthew placed his arm on the smaller mans shoulder in a reassuring fashion. "He'll come around."

Arthur seemed to lean into the touch for a few seconds before responding quietly. "I hope so. Oh God I hope so."

Silence over took the pair, Arthur lost in his longing, and Matthew finally realizing just how late it was.

With a sigh Arthur moved from his sitting position to stand, "I guess I'd better get going, I've still got to find a hotel that will take me. Thanks for the spirits." With that Arthur stumbled out of his chair, and started swaying over to the door, pulling his large coat around him in the process. Matthew was quick to follow.

"You can stay with me. It will be much cheaper." Matthew offered, knowing full well that his offer would be rejected.

"Na, I'm already loose enough as it is. Best not push my luck. Did I ever tell you, you and Alfred look a lot alike…"

As expected. Nonetheless, Matthew snaked his arm around the smaller man, helping to steady the other as he swayed a little more at the touch, as if to shy away before finally allowing it.

"Well then let me help you find a suitable hotel, I know there are a few around this area. And I'd feel absolutely dreadful if anything where to happen to you."

Arthur laughed loudly, "That'd be a hoot! 'Found dead. Hit by a car in the wee hours of the morning.' I'm sure Alfred would forgive me then!" The statement was followed by more deafening laughter. Matthew only smiled sadly as the two staggered out the door into the snow. The taller of the two felt eyes on him as they left; the bartender had been watching all evening, but as the two exited the small place, the server did not move to stop them. Matthew thought it ironic.

"Ya know, when we first started seeing each other, Alfred got this brilliant idea to rent a cabin in the woods. Now here's the kicker, it was in February! Valentines day and all that shit, anyway we got snowed in and everything! Alfred loved it, but I was sweating bullets! Never been much for the cold, I was convinced we would starve or something like that. Didn't help that Alfred ate all of our food in one night! Blasted pig, I'm sure he's going to be fat when he gets older…"

The endless torrent of chatter was actually quite calming to Matthew, and he led the smaller man down the sidewalk, the soft snow lightly caressing the both of them.

It was about a half mile away from the bar that Matthew found the perfect spot to perform the task at hand. It was the only street light as far as the eye could see that remained unlit; an alley way stretched to their right, businesses on either side. A fresh carpet of snow lined the alleyway, proving that no one in the recent hours had traveled the small path. No one would be disturbed. No one would look.

Matthew calmly charged their direction and led the smaller man into the opening of the alley, away from the prying eyes of the street. Arthur was far too drunk to even notice, he continued rambling about how horrible coffee was for a moment before realizing they where no longer on the main street.

In one fluid motion Matthew's arms shifted from holding up the smaller man to resting them firmly on Arthur's shoulders, the two now facing one another. Arthur staggered for a moment, not having expected the loss of support, and looking around as if he was confused at what was happening.

Then it seemed to dawn on the smaller man what was about to happen, or at least what might be on the agenda. Hands stronger then Matthew had anticipated where swiftly pushing him backwards. It was a shock at first, Arthur had drunk so much that evening that the strong rejection was in itself a surprise – but not a welcome one.

"I may be drunk, but I'll still kick your ass if you tr-" Arthur's speech had started out groggy, muddled, but none the less strong. It had suddenly halted when Matthew strongly gripped the smaller mans jaw and slammed him backwards into the stone wall behind him, the head being the most sorely hit section.

Pain instantly registered in those green eyes as they scrunched in an attempt to bear the throbbing of his newly injured head, the smaller mans teeth biting into his lips in an attempt not to scream. It wasn't fair to say that Matthew enjoyed the way pain looked in those green eyes. It was only necessary that he repeat the trauma and view the results with an intent eye. He didn't want Arthur to squirm too much.

This time the cry that escaped those already bloodied lips – looks like Arthur had bit a little to hard – was something Matthew could not ignore. It might have been the pure pain that emanated from the sound, or perhaps it was blood that was starting to stain the wall and glob in the Englishman's hair. Either way, Matthew could take no more.

He gently released his grip on Arthurs jaw, allowing the other man to almost fall into the vampires embrace. With gentle fingers Matthew caressed the skin where he'd grasped just moments before – the area had already starting to bruise – and gently turned the face upwards; the elongated neck acting as a shining beacon. Matthew wasted no more time before plunging his teeth savagely into the delicate skin.

Small spasms rocked the body within Matthew's arms as teeth sunk in and started their work, one arm wrapped around the waist and the other placed on the base of the head.

The blood was exactly as Matthew had envisioned it, if not better; deep and rich with underlying tastes of earth and sea. So lost in that enthralling taste, Matthew didn't notice the shaky hands reaching for his head before it was too late.

Hands still stronger then he had thought possible violently gripped his hair and wrenched the vampire from his meal. Surprise was an understatement, and as Matthew let go of the smaller man, Arthur sunk to his knees, green eyes starting to daze.

Matthew simply stared for a few minutes as Arthur reached for the wall to steady himself and attempted to move away from his attacker, one shaking step at a time. But reality came to Matthew far too late for the Englishman to have ever hoped of escape, Matthew's arms gripping the bloodied hair to wrench back his prey.

Despite his condition, Arthur did not go without a fight. As Matthew violently twisted the smaller man around to face him Arthur bit savagely into an arm that had strayed to close. Again Matthew was stunned, those green eyes where clearly dizzying and starting to lose their luster, but the teeth only bit harder into the unprotected flesh of the vampires arm.

Matthew, to say the least, was not pleased. Grabbing the other mans face; Matthew jerked his arm free from the vice like grip of teeth and again spun Arthur around, this time to face the wall. More violently then he had before, Matthew slammed the small mans head against the wall, once, twice, three times, and then a fourth for good measure.

This time when he turned the man around, Matthew received no resistance.

It was now that the parasite took the proper time to finish his work, lapping up the blood that littered the face in an almost loving fashion. When the victim was properly cleaned, Matthew was happy to note that a closed casket funeral would not be in order. Three large gashes where littered across Arthurs head, but they could easily be covered with his hair. It was a strange relief to Matthew that the other man hadn't been ruined entirely.

It was only proper let those people close to his victim grieve over a cold dead body instead of a closed casket.

For the second time that evening Matthew sunk his teeth into Arthur's neck. There was no struggle.

He took in the taste with unbridled pleasure, savoring every bit.

It was a good three minutes after starting that Matthew felt the familiar tears starting to pool and then drip from the base of his host's head. Matthew ignored it, rationalizing that it was only blood. Crying would ruin it, tears would take away the enjoyment of this occasion, and Matthew refused to let that happen.

Blood it would remain, because oh how he hated it when they cried.

--

Alfred had stormed out of the tavern in disgust; upset that Francis had just let Arthur leave obviously impaired with someone neither of them knew. Francis knew how Arthur was when he was drunk! It was completely irresponsible of him to just let the Englishman be carted off like that.

He refused to forgive Francis, even if the Frenchman had pointed him in the direction the two had headed off in.

If anything happened, Alfred swore that it would be the Frenchman's hide.

So here he was, wandering main street looking for any sign of Arthur or the mysterious stranger said to be accompanying him. After quite a ways, Alfred had about given up finding his partner for the evening. He hated to leave, and he wanted to find Arthur. To give him a hug, usher him home, fall asleep together and then discuss what needed to be done about their situation. Alfred didn't just want to just wait till Arthur came home.

It was for this reason that Alfred had moved a little farther then he had initially intended to go, and as he had lost all hope, he almost tripped on something in the snow. Grumbling he turned to kick what ever it was that had tripped him, but he was too shocked to move.

It was a hand, a body hidden in the shadows of a small alleyway. The sympathetic side of him came to the forefront. If anyone was attempting to sleep in this weather they would surly freeze, and Alfred bent down to gather the wet figure.

Alfred got a good look at the face.

He screamed.

--

It was seven months later, as he sat across from a beautiful blond in a quaint little diner that Matthew heard the breaking news on the screen in the corner of the restaurant.

"There has been an arrest in the murder of the beloved Professor Arthur Kirkland. The suspect in question is that of Alfred F. Jones, the former lover of the deseased…"

"_I love him with all my heart."_

Scrambling, Matthew slammed a $50 on the table and dashed from the diner, leaving the blond in complete shock.

Now outside his stomach heaved, and from his throat spewed red.

He couldn't tell if it was wine or blood.


End file.
